


like a music that holds my hands down

by Anemoi



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4629084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anemoi/pseuds/Anemoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Didn't expect you to actually come.” Steven says, sunglasses flashing before he took them off. He's smiling, knocks their shoulders in to a perfunctory hug and then grabs Xabi's suitcase to stow in the trunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a music that holds my hands down

**Author's Note:**

> giant shoutout to the squad, [saltstreets](http://archiveofourown.org/users/saltstreets), [Imkerin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Imkerin), and [raumdeuter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/raumdeuter) for like, hand holding and reading it thru at 3 am, and pointing out the original ending sucked. so grateful i love u all. 
> 
> this is my attempt at gerlonso gerlonso, with minimal liverpool mention ...i didn't expect it to turn out like this.

 

 

 

“Didn't expect you to actually come.” Steven says, sunglasses flashing before he took them off. He's smiling, knocks their shoulders in to a perfunctory hug and then grabs Xabi's suitcase to stow in the trunk.

 

It's muggy in Los Angeles, late afternoon with the sunlight streaming in from everywhere, disgruntled car horns as the drivers sped past on the highway. Steven's car had tinted windows, so it was dark and shaded inside. Xabi watches Steven's hand turn up the dials of the air conditioning, his fingers when they test the wind coming through the vents. Steven looks across at him on the driver's seat, sees him watching. Xabi turns his head and makes a remark about the weather.

 

The rest of the drive to the hotel doesn't take long when they spend it catching up. Alex in New York with the girls, Nagore still in Munich with Jon and Emma and Ane. “I'm coming to Los Angeles.” Xabi had said in to the phone, his voice pitched to a carelessness. He'd been smiling, though, waiting for Steven's joy.

“That's- Xabs. That's great. I'll pick you up at the airport.” Steven says. And yet there seemed to be a fissure of uncertainty under his voice that stole in under Xabi's heart. Just the abruptness of his visit, Xabi thinks, nothing more.

 

-

 

“Here.” Steven says, frowning a little, handing him the hotel card. “Sixth floor.”

“I can check in on my own, you know.” Xabi says, raising his eyebrows. “I'm a big boy now.”

Steven makes a face at him, and it melts in to a fond half smile, same as before. “I know.” He scratches his head. The lobby was half empty, the end of tourist season, and they're standing by the elevators. Xabi doesn't ask him why they were in this hotel at all, something he booked more for Nagore's sake than his own.

“Want to come up?” He asks instead.

Steven hesitates. His eyes flit up, locks on Xabi's. Xabi reaches out a hand, careful to angle it so that it seemed casual from a bystander's point of view, curls it around Steven's wrist. He presses a thumb down on Steven's pulse, lets go. Steven's still looking at him, knowing, and Xabi feels him crack. Xabi feels, also, vindication.

“Alright.” Steven says. Xabi hits the elevator button.

 

-

 

The suite is not too large, but it had it's own kitchenette, living space connected to the bedroom. Steven sprawls on a chair with a curved, rigid uncomfortable back and turns on the TV. Xabi unbuttons his shirtsleeves to his elbows, sits on the bed.

 

Steven flicks through the channels but there's no football, so he gives up and lets it settle on a news channel. Somewhere an oil tanker has gone down and somewhere else a war is escalating. Steven yawns.

 

“Water?” Xabi asks, then goes to get the glasses without waiting for an answer. He's filling them up when Steven's arms come around his waist, his face buried between Xabi's shoulder blades. Xabi holds very still, sets down the glass of water on the counter. He's very proud of himself for his steady hands. Steven loosens his hold and Xabi turns around, hesitant.

“Xabi.” Steven smiles, and he looked so young. Xabi had ceased to think of him as a young man, but he wasn't even middle aged.

He couldn't answer, so all there was left was to kiss Steven, pull him in close and then closer, let their bodies find home in one long, shuddering sigh.

 

-

 

“Why didn't we go back to your house?” Xabi asks, after. Steven's tracing a hand over the lines on Xabi's palm, the shades are drawn and the central air conditioning makes a constant hum in the background. The lights to the bathroom are on.

“It'll just be harder when you leave.” Steven says. “It's a mess, anyway. Alex's been gone for 2 days and I haven't bothered tidying. Plus all the girls' toys everywhere. Lourdes has her own town now, practically. Dollhouses and monster trucks all over the living room.”

Xabi chuckles. “Sounds like Ane. Shame I can't see her this time.”

“Yeah.” Steven says, quiet.

“You're going to training tomorrow?” Xabi asks. And then, “How's Robbie Keane?”

Steven props himself up on an elbow to stare more effectively. “Robbie's good.”

“I hear you have _instant chemistry._ ” Xabi says, teasing. “What is it like to be reunited?”

Steven rolls his eyes and gets out of bed. Xabi makes a noise of protest, but Steven only turns back a little, runs a hand through Xabi's hair, tugging the ends. “Just phoning for take out. Stay in bed.”

-

 

He goes to Steven's training session, stays outside with sunglasses and a hat on hoping it was enough to deter paparazzi. Steven does a double take when he sees him, like he was still surprised that Xabi was here. They stroll back to the car, and Steven looks happy.

“It was good?” Xabi says, knocking his fingers gently on the bumpers of the cars they pass in the parking lot.

“Yeah. Giovani scored a beauty today. 30 yards.” Steven says, grinning at him.

Xabi whistles. Steven smiles at him again, pauses like he was about to say something but shakes his head instead and slides in to the car.

It's later, when they drive back to Steven's by unspoken agreement, when they're sitting opposite each other across the dining table eating something Xabi cooked, that Xabi says, “You're happy.”

Steven looks at him. “Yeah.”

Xabi looks down at his paella. The air conditioning's turned up high, fluttering the tissues on the table. “Good.” He says. He looks up, to make sure Steven knows he was sincere.

Steven's smiling, reaches across and touches his hand.

 

 

-

 

It was so easy, in the end. Hanging around in Steven's house until he came back from training, going to the beach, kissing under the waves and laughing about it when they surface, like two delirious kids. The mundane, vacuumed space of this alternate ordinary life that they can share. The days fly by like this, falling asleep on the couch with Steven's head heavy on his shoulder, tripping over Lourdes' monster trucks in the morning half awake as he stumbles down the hallway. Eating breakfast with Steven's cold feet propped in his lap.

He sees Steven's shin guards by accident, picks them up out of the kit bag with a grin. Stevie smirks, almost blushing, like someone caught with a lover's picture under their pillow.

“Do you miss it?” Xabi asks, because he knows the answer already.

Steven looks down. “Every day.” But then he lifts his head and smiles, as though this didn't hurt at all, as though he was perfectly content with the missing.

It leaves Xabi a little cold. If Steven Gerrard can live without Liverpool, (and he can. He can. Steven Gerrard is growing used to sunlight, growing in the sunlight), then he can live without Xabi Alonso.

He hands the shin guards to Steven, who tucks them carefully back in to his kit bag.

 

It's with a pang that Xabi picks up the phone one morning, sees the date, and realizes he only has 2 days left in LA.

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

The last day, and they're sitting together on the couch. The television is playing a New York City match, and Xabi glances at it, on occasion, mostly when the commentator enthuses on Villa.

“Lamps is settling down well.” Stevie remarks. Xabi turns back to him.

He looks soft, t-shirt curled in around his frame, semi-new flip flops on his feet, shorts slung easy on his hips. He looks happy.

“Does your ankle still hurt? Xabi asks, abrupt.

Steven tilts his head, considering. “Sometimes.”

Xabi puts a hand over his knee until Steven raises his legs, grinning a little. Xabi touches his ankle, faint silver scar left over from the operations, the new bruises fading in and out on his shins.

“Steven.” Xabi says, and moves over, rests his forehead against Steven’s shoulder. He’s still just trying to hold himself back. Steven’s never been the sort. Steven shifts, so Xabi shifts, so instead now Xabi’s burying his face in the Steven’s neck, inhaling. 

He smells like cotton and soap. Xabi’s still just trying to hold himself back.

“You're happy here?” This time Xabi makes it a question.

Steven's quiet. Xabi wonders if he knows.

“Stevie.” He says again, and Steven’s arms come up around him.

“It's not home, Xabi.” Steven says finally. “It's not home.”

“Stevie.” He says it again instead of all the words he means to say, because it works better anyway. _If I said I loved you would you believe me?_ He thinks. So _Steven,_ instead of, because of, in place of. Just like how a ball in to the net stood for all those hopes, just like a song stood for all those dreams, just like a sign, a crest, numbers on the back of a shirt.

 

 

-

 

“What if I stay.” Xabi says, sudden. It's breakfast on the last day. Xabi's catching a red eye back to Munich.

Steven raises his head, his spoon not stopping. His eyebrows furrow. Xabi watches him chew, muscles in his jaw working, traces of stubble shadowing his face.

“Will you?” Steven says, carefully, like setting down a delicate piece of china on the table.

Xabi exhales. “I don't know.”

He runs through the logistics of staying. They didn't have to come out to the press. But they both had to get divorces, and Xabi had to retire or join some MLS club, and God, what about the kids.

“How is Lourdes in New York?” He says, instead, hating himself for it. “They grow so fast, no.”

Steven looks at him, knowing, completely unsurprised. Xabi supposes people could get used to a source of pain when they expect it.

 _I'm not an animal in a trap._ Xabi wants to say. _I'm not._

Steven stops and puts down his spoon. “Come here.” He says, gentle. He doesn't use that voice much. Xabi goes.

“It feels like halftime in Istanbul.” He mumbles jokingly. Steven laughs. His fingers tighten on Xabi's shirt, and Xabi closes his eyes.

 

 

-

 

“I'm staying.” Xabi says.

“Shut up.” Stevie says, shakes his head.

 

 

 

“I'm staying.” Xabi says, later, mumbled in to the curve of Steven's neck.

Steven kisses him silent.

 

 

“I'm staying.” Xabi says, soft in to the top of Steven's hair. Steven's asleep, hand curled loose in Xabi's, chest lifting and sinking gently.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Steven's fidgeting at him, hands stuck in pockets. He looks tense, chin tucked down. The people bustling through the airport part around them like they were two stones stuck in the middle of the river. It's 85 minutes till his plane lifts off.

Steven huffs a sigh and comes in close, frowning a little, brushes down the front of Xabi's coat with rough hands.

You can only leave something when you didn't care anymore, or when you knew it remained safe, unchangeable, there for you when you needed it. But the world refused to remain constant. _I was content,_ Xabi thinks. _What happened?_

“Stevie.” He says. “Let me stay.”

Steven's eyes get wider. His hands falter on Xabi's coat. “What?”

“Steven.” Xabi says, thinks he should stop using Steven’s name like a magic word that could accomplish anything he wanted. Steven smiles at him, shaking his head, tugs him in and set his chin on Xabi’s shoulder. Xabi shuts his eyes. Perhaps it’s his turn for a little faith. Perhaps they just have to hold on a little longer. Perhaps next time he’ll stay. 

“I’ll still be here next time, Xabs.” Steven says, presses a kiss to the corner of his jaw. And Xabi thinks, _Me too._

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading ! <3


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